Façade
by control of chaos
Summary: Alex's death creates a ripple of changes at MI6, the biggest of those for his partner, Ben Daniels. Fifth and last in the Safehouse arc.
1. Chapter 1

Part one of _Façade_, the fifth and last in my _Safehouse_ arc. For anyone who is reading/has already read _Scorpia Rising_, my arc is ignoring that book. While I loved the book, it messes with my storyline. ~ SamayouTamashi

* * *

><p>The funeral was a small one in the courtyard of MI6, hidden from the rest of London by a grove of apple trees. No one had leaked anything to the media, keeping it private from the public, not that it would have mattered. There weren't many who knew James Bertrand outside the workplace; fewer were the ones who knew the real identity behind the deputy director.<p>

While the spy still had to be at work by nine, Ben Daniels had gotten up early to attend. He wasn't the only one. Many of his colleagues, from both MI6 and other country's intelligence organizations (most, if not all, in disguise), had managed to find their way to the funeral as well. K-Unit, from SAS, had even gotten a week off when the news arrived at base, orders from the unusually emotional Alan Blunt.

Ben sat by himself before Eagle arrived, ignoring the four rows of plastic seats to lean against the tree nearest the mahogany coffin. MI6 had allowed the casket to be open, after the bullet holes had been sealed up, but Ben hadn't looked upon Alex's face again. He'd already memorized it as they took it away on the stretcher, remembering that faint smile as if it had never died.

Eagle was the first of his unit to arrive, with Falcon not long behind him. Their plane had been a direct flight with no layovers, unlike the rest of K-Unit. At first glance, he didn't see the one person he already knew would still be there. Taking a harder look, however, he saw Ben sitting off to the side, staring off into space.

Dressed in the little black he could muster on such short notice, which was basically a black tie and belt, he joined the spy in the loose black suit. Ben didn't even realize he was there until a hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

"We got the news just before we were about to get shipped out. I tried to call but you must have turned your phone off."

"I didn't want to talk to anyone," he sighed. "I just…needed some time to think."

Falcon sat in the front row, nodding his head in Ben's direction.

"MI6 didn't tell us what happened. Was it-?"

"I don't know," Ben grimaced. "There's an investigation looking into it, but I don't think it matters. What's done is done."

"A sniper again?"

"Yeah. I see it over and over in my head and I always feel like there was something wrong with the picture." He rubbed at his eyes before another tear could threaten to fall. "There had to have been something I could have done."

"No, there wasn't," Eagle reprimanded him in a tone very un-Eagle-ish. "Like you said, what's done is done. The point of us being here is to remember him, not regret our mistakes."

"I guess having a psychologist as a brother comes in handy sometimes."

"All the time. It never fails to help. Now what he would say is 'instead of sitting there, go talk with all these people and share condolences. They miss him just as much, even if you were closest to him.'"

"And let you sit here by yourself crying? That would be mean."

"I am not crying," he denied even as the first drops ran down his cheeks. "Oh now you've done it. When Wolf gets here, he's going to call me a crybaby."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

The two sat for a half-hour, watching somewhat familiar faces come and go, stopping to drop off flowers from all across the world. Even the Prime Minister stopped for a brief time, speaking with the newly arrived Blunt and Jones, now MI5*. Arriving just shortly after was the rest of K-Unit, who immediately located Eagle and Ben.

Snake had spent the entire flight and ride over berating himself for not trying harder to get make Alex leave MI6. Any job in the world, even joining the EODs** would have given him a longer lifespan. Ben, of course, whacked him over the head when he even tried to bring it up. After all, the spy told them, he had gotten addicted to the job. Once a spy, always a spy.

Wolf remained stoically silent, but his unit managed to auspiciously avert their gaze or turn their attention to another mourner every time he wiped at his eyes.

When Blunt was about to leave, near the time he had to return to work, Ben noted another car pull up to drop off its two occupants. As the car stopped, he noticed the license plate subtly change, the first and third numbers blurring to go from a five and nine to a three and two. The first man out was easily identifiable by his large weight: Smithers, the gadgetmaker of MI6. Alex had always been his favorite test subject, willing to give some of his more _interesting_ ideas a test out in the field.

The second wasn't as easy to remember. Despite being just halfway to forty, the grey streaks not yet visible in his hair, the slender Caucasian was confined to a wheelchair. Ben faintly recalled his last name being Rochester, but that was it. Three times he had seen him at MI6, the first time when he got the motorcycle from Smithers and twice speaking in a low voice with Alex in his office. When he'd asked Alex who had just left, a little over a week ago, the teenager had shrugged. "An ally, but not necessarily a friend." He had frowned just the slightest bit, prompting Ben to ask for more details. "Mr. Rochester is an incredible spy and has had a long career, but he seems to suffer from a grievous malady for anyone in the intelligence business to have."

"And that is?"

Alex smirked. "Bad luck. No matter how much he does, his missions have the strangest occurrences; though he always does manage to pull through admirably well despite how bad things get. Once, he was on a fairly simple job when the building he was in collapsed from an unexpected earthquake. His team was killed and he was paralyzed from the hips down."

"So why don't you consider him a friend?"

"Something about him, the way he seems to see right through your eyes to your soul, just makes me uncomfortable."

The topic had never been broached again.

Even after death, mysteries seemed to follow the young spy.

Rochester rolled from the back of the car, which was evidently bigger than it appeared to fit both him in a wheelchair and Smithers, to approach the casket. Even retired from the spy game, it appeared that he hadn't lost his touch. He slowed for a moment before meeting Ben's eyes. The spy shivered as he agreed with his partner's judgement wholeheartedly. It honestly appeared that those dark gray eyes could see into the depths of your soul.

But it was only in the briefest second, for the former-spy resumed his normal pace and averted his gaze.

Falcon, who had joined them, looked over at Rochester. "Wasn't he the one that died in the earthquake a couple years back?"

Ben looked curiously over at Wolf, who seemed to be thinking. "You mean the four guys whose bodies we pulled out? I don't think we ever found the intelligence agent supposedly with them."

"That's an impressive trick he pulled, then. I could have sworn there were no survivors when that building crashed."

"Maybe he switched identities for a time," Snake suggested, "and somehow got pulled back into the game. I sure wouldn't suspect a cripple for doing too many stunts, but…" he trailed off, not adding the 'but I wouldn't suspect a teenager, either' to the end. The blanks were simple enough to fill in.

"Or, MI6 might have offered him the newly vacated position. He visited enough times to make it seem like he was deciding to come back in." Ben didn't add that he had talked specifically to Alex the few times he had been there.

They were quiet as they watched the man rest a hand on the coffin, speaking a few words that none of them could have understood, save for the lip-reading the spy was fluent in before rolling his chair over to speak with Blunt. "That's a little weird."

Eagle perked up. "What? What'd he say?"

"He said, 'They'll miss you,' instead of 'I'll miss you.' That just seems off to me."

Wolf looked thoughtful. "If Alex were here, he'd probably come up with some insane scheme to break into his files and somehow drag the rest of us into this. Despite overwhelming odds, we'd all survive and laugh about it when we didn't hurt so much."

"Probably," Ben sighed. There were many things he would miss, but the adventure would be the biggest one. Alex brought a lot of color to their lives and not much could fill in his absence. He happened to see the time on Snake's watch. "I need to run over to the office for a couple minutes. Blunt said we'd get the day off, full pay included, but there were some things he needed to speak to everyone about at around nine." He grabbed his duffel bag from the ground beside him, full of post-mission papers he needed to get turned in, and dashed to the back door of the Royal and General. Somewhat unconsciously, he took the stairwell hidden in the back behind a seemingly solid metal wall instead of the elevator, not wanting to retrace his steps from two days ago.

Once on the correct floor, he swiped his ID card to get in the door to the offices, typing the unique ten-digit password, which would correspond with only his card and fingerprints, into the keypad that slid out from the wall. Smithers had upped the security tremendously since the information that leaked Alex's address got leaked out. Not that it had helped, he thought grimly.

Inside, everyone had gathered in the main 'lobby' of MI6's HQ. The room was mostly filled with the employees constantly in and out of the office, with accounts registered to the bank. Their salaries appeared to be similar on the outside, but the other half of their salary was hidden in the registers until it was used. The room had been divided into comfortably sized cubicles with the most recent software and comfortable seating, though their coffee was lacking.

Ben tapped the shoulder of one of MI6's programmers, Jenny McAlister. The top in her field, she had been recruited right out of college in her early twenties and rose in the ranks faster than most. While she did some communications work, most of her time was spent keeping track of the computers within MI6, including those in other countries, and maintaining active defenses to prevent viruses and leaks from appearing without notice. "Is _everyone_ here?" he asked her as she shut off her monitor and turned around.

"So far as I can tell. Must be pretty important stuff he needs everyone to hear. From what I've heard, he's even making sure that any agents on ops get time off to tune in. Alex's death hit him harder than I-well harder than anyone expected."

"Heard anything about who's filling the new position?"

"Not a peep, but that's to be expected. Normally there's at least some idea, but then I guess no one really expected Alex to…um…pass on." Ben wasn't the only one his death had affected. At work, he'd been a constant presence, demonstrating his new disguises and even accidentally once hitting one of the accountants with a sleeping dart. The spy chuckled under his breath as he remembered his partner puzzling over the mechanical pencil Smithers had dropped cryptically off at his desk as he attempted, and failed, to make it write. He'd gone over to a cubicle asking for ideas, when one of the accountants suggested blowing through the inside to get the lead loose, and when he did, a piece came out to prick the man's hand. With a confused look, he'd immediately fallen backwards in his chair, snoring. Alex had blinked before asking for witnesses to claim that it hadn't been his idea.

Jenny seemed to understand what he was thinking. "Remember when Smithers got him the hair tonic for the mission in Greece, and Cassie was teaching him how to dance?"

"And we kept laughing too hard for him to pay attention? Oh that was priceless indeed."

One of the other programmers, Dylan, leaned in to join them. "And when Rob lost his glasses, Alex was looking all over to try and help him, and they had wound up in the refrigerator somehow. He spent the entire day searching for them and Crowley was stuck doing most of his paperwork."

"He always did manage to get out of doing his papers," Cassie laughed, rolling her chair over to hear more clearly. "Like that one time when he insisted his papers were vanishing from his desk—"

"—when he was actually hiding them in the ventilation shafts," Ben finished. "And once we found them, no one else was small enough to get them back out."

Another round of stories passed through until the clock dinged twice to signal oh nine hundred hours***. The MI6 employees fell silent as Blunt plodded into the room, Rochester in his wheelchair moving steadily behind him. Without the dramatic pause or introduction that most speakers give to their audience, Blunt spoke just as his name suggested: blunt and straight to the point.

"The administration in MI6 is going to undergo a rapid change in just a few days, and I am going to inform you all now so that you aren't surprised by the end of the week. First, I am retiring from the intelligence work altogether." If the room could have gotten any more silent, it would have. There were a couple nods from the particularly observant workers, because there had been a great deal of signs, but many were affirming what they just heard with those beside them with hand signals.

"Second, to take effect before I resign, I assign the position of deputy director to Mr. Gene Rochester," he gestured to the man in the wheelchair, "who will be accepting my abdication later today once the correct papers are in order."

In spite of his cold outward manner towards most people-including his own-not even Blunt could keep up his façade all the time. It was then that Ben, and a couple of the other spies used to detecting minute changes in movement and behavior, saw the smallest chink in his armor: pride. Not the bad kind that makes you think too much of yourself, but the sort you get from seeing your children succeed and students under your discipline graduate with huge smiles as they receive awards for their labors; the kind that warms your heart on the coldest days.

"Last, I want to say that it has been an honor to serve with all of you, but this profession gets wearisome. Alex's death has sealed my decision. Agents' deaths are hard to take, and Alex was supposed to replace me when I retired. To my dismay," he tilted his head in what might have been a salute to the newly deceased, "he cannot. However, Gene is more than capable of my position. He has been a close friend for a few years now and will be better at my job than I ever was."

Ben frowned as Blunt used the word 'friend'. He wasn't the man to hand out that word carelessly, but he said he had only known the former spy for a couple years. And hadn't the guy worked at MI6 previously? That was more than a 'few' years ago.

Blunt appeared to have said what he wanted as he retreated back to his office, Rochester on his heels.

At a tap on his shoulder, he turned to Jenny. "Hey, didn't that dude, Rochester, die two years ago?"

"Yeah. I thought that too, but I guess not. Must have been faked so he could retire," the spy guessed.

"Then they really managed to get rid of everything," she said. "I could have sworn that the files about his death were with the rest of the spy obits, but when the boss," she referred to Blunt, despite his impending retirement, "brought him back in, he must have erased that one. By that, I mean _really erased. There isn't even a ghost left on the main computer."_

"And his other files? Have they been, um, changed in any way?"

The programmers main strength was her incredible capacity to learn, but second was her nearly perfect memory. Even if the computers said everything was the same, Jenny tell you if an 'a' had turned to an 'an'.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard with such speed that he feared the keys might burn out. "Despite how long he was in the field, there are relatively few documents with his name mentioned, either as under his main codenames, Thirteen and Black Cat, his other identities, or his actual name. A few notes in the margins refer to extra documents, but I can't find them here or in any of the computers. Not even Blunt's." She swiveled around, switching her monitor off as she did. "Do you think he's hiding something personal that became important once he was hired as MI6's director?"

"Possibly. Maybe he needs to keep anything that could be used against him, like the names of his kids and such, off of our main data source."

"But why?"

"If an agent decided to go rogue or, even worse, switched sides, they wouldn't be able to find out where he lived or other potential blackmail."

"Good point. It just feels like…well like he's hiding something else."

Ben shrugged. "I know the feeling, but if Blunt trusts him, then he has to be out of this world. Last I heard, he still doesn't even trust his wife."

The room was slowly dissipating as everyone grabbed any leftover work and went home to enjoy one of the dozen or so days they would get off. You got every other weekend off, but the typical workweek was twelve days on, two days off. Jenny stared in the direction of the director's office for a few seconds more before snatching the un-coded files from her desk and jamming them into the false bottom of her briefcase, securing both the real and false locks as she picked it up from her desk. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow." Her gaze softened. "And don't look so down. None of us could have done anything about it, much as we'll miss him. You aren't the only one blaming yourself by the looks of it." She discreetly tilted her head towards Blunt's office as she stood up, leaving him alone with the remaining stragglers.

With a melancholy sigh, he pushed his chair back to its original spot, grabbed a few papers from his office to fill out when he got the chance, and grabbed a spot on the elevator before the doors could shut. It was going to be a different job here without Alex, he thought sadly.

* * *

><p>AN: So I highly doubt that MI6 would bury their own in the grounds behind headquarters, but I think this sounds better.

On another note, I know I said it would only take a couple days to get this up, but evidently I have no time (or internet) during the week. An advance warning to my wonderful followers: chapter two should be done tomorrow(ish) but it likely won't get posted until next weekend for a couple reasons. The first is because I sprained a wrist and it really hurts to type. (Even now, I am wincing in pain) Second, my internet connection is going down during the week but seems to be stronger on the weekend. Why? No clue. Either way, it'll be posted soon. Thanks for reading these annoyingly long notes and _please review!_

* Tulip Jones quit her job to work at MI5 during the last chapter of _Favor_.

** Explosives Ordinance Disposal; despite increased safety precautions, they still suffer a decent mortality rate. These are the units that disable bombs on the field.

*** This is nine in the morning for those who don't have parents in the military or live in the US. (At least, I think it is... I always get confused when people say nine am, or nine pm because it makes no sense at all.)


	2. Chapter 2

Part two of _Façade_. ~ SamayouTamashi

* * *

><p>Work began as usual the next day, with the main office technicians coming in between about six and seven, and part-time workers (aka spies) getting settled in by noon at the latest. While there were no official hours, things just seemed to work out that way.<p>

Ben was in earlier than , immersing himself in his work as soon as he woke up, and doing his best not to let his emotions take control of his thoughts. The work itself was getting increasingly repetitive: fill this out, signature here, fill this out, signature here. Not that he minded, of course, but the day seemed so much more…dull. Most days he couldn't even imagine finishing the ever-growing mass of papers. Today, they disappeared nearly too fast. It was strange to think of until he remembered what was missing: Alex.

Putting another sheet into the small mesh basket marked with a sticky note saying 'finished', he massaged his cramping hand to bring feeling back into it. Moments later, as he was about to pick his pen back up, a knock resounded at his door. He abandoned the pen to put order to the haphazardly scattered documents. "Come in."

There was an almost hesitant pause before the knock repeated.

Grumbling under his breath about lazy coworkers, he walked over to open the door himself. To his surprise, the 'lazy coworker' was his new boss. Rochester nodded at the spy in a way that conveyed both an apology for being unable to open the door himself, due to the wheelchair, and the desire to speak with him of something that needed to be said away from keen ears. Ben closed the door behind him, not quite sure if he should continue standing or sit back down at his desk, so he stayed where he was by the door.

Rochester swiveled his wheelchair around to face him. "You must be Senior Agent Benjamin Daniels, if I understand correctly and if the name on your door is correct."

"Yes. Sir," he quickly tacked on to the end, as his new boss's predecessor, Alan Blunt, had exuded the air of expecting formalities.

"Just yes is fine with me. No need for you to make me feel old."

Ben's cheeks flushed as he realized that had been exactly what he had been thinking. Despite the wheelchair, soul-piercing grey eyes and business-like attire, Gene Rochester couldn't have been more than a decade older than he was, if that.

"But that wasn't what I came to discuss. What I was wondering about was your preference on who should become my deputy director."

He almost said Alex's name before reality crashed into him once more like an out-of-control train. Why couldn't he accept his partner's death? "Who did you have in mind?"

Rochester tilted his head in…was that amusement he read in the pale eyes? "I have only been here on a few occasions previous to my recent promotion, and thus have come with no preconceptions of my own."

"You haven't asked anyone else?"

"I didn't say that."

"Honestly, sir," he bit his lip as he forgot to take off the formality, "I haven't been in the office long enough to know many of my colleagues very well. Some of them I don't even know their names."

"You must know enough to have been placed as their senior agent."

"Well I…I just got a little more experience than most of the other agents while I was working with Al—Agent Rider. Apparently that was enough."

If Rochester noticed the slip, it wasn't evident in his expression. "That's right. You were under the tutelage of Blunt's deputy director when you first started here up until the time he died. From what I know of Rider, he had quite the extensive list of contacts into the underground, including a few threads into the growing terrorist group, PHOENIX."

Ben frowned. He had been sure that the only ones who knew about Alex's contacts in PHOENIX, the company currently struggling to rise from the ashes and remaining funds of SCORPIA, had been himself and Alex. Not even Blunt had been made aware, as the contacts had been tentative and wary of trusting them in the first place.

The new director continued. "While the deputy director needs to have plenty of contacts, it also helps if they have befriended a great deal of the higher-ups, you know, for all the politics that goes on behind the scenes."

Alex had certainly made sure that his partner met with his allies in Parliament, as well as rising powers that could potentially hold a great deal of interest in the future. The early bird gets the worm, after all. It was always a matter of timing.

"And I can be almost completely certain that Agent Rider would have trusted you with just as many names as he possibly could. Losing connections like that can be absolutely devastating in the espionage business. He would have known that, placing himself in danger all the time."

"You want me to be the deputy director?"

"I was just pointing out some characteristics that help to strengthen the position," he idly countered, making no attempt to deny the claim.

"Just ask and I'll accept."

Rochester fingered the arm rests on his chair before looking him in the eye. All emotion was gone from his gaze once more, the sly glint in his eye and curious half smile smoothed back into his blank façade. "You're sure?"

Before Alex had…been shot, he would have turned it down. Then, he hadn't wanted to do more than feel the exhilaration of adrenaline rushing through his veins and complain about his partner's reckless stunts. There would be no more of that. Sure, Alex had managed to go against the norm, continuing to find missions to occupy his time when the finances and diplomatic meetings were completed, but Ben got the feeling that if he succumbed to a promotion, it wouldn't be the same. "Yeah, I'll take it."

One of those nods came again, the one that revealed a little but hid a lot more. "You can move into your new office tomorrow. Crowley will take over as senior agent until most of the agents can be brought in to decide on your replacement. Have a good day." He undid the brakes keeping him in place and left as Ben opened the door to let him out.

As he closed it behind him, he was struck by the weirdest sense of déjà vu. He tried to shake it off as leftover shock from his partner's…sudden departure, but it stayed with him even as he left for his lunch break, pushing files and papers into somewhat orderly stacks. For a minute, Ben could almost hear Alex grumble about the extra work he was going to have, due to his rather unorthodox ascent to deputy director. He wondered what Alex would say to him now, as he took over the position.

* * *

><p>Ben was not normally the kind to eavesdrop on his own coworkers, and especially not his boss, but it had appeared, he thought, that it was becoming a bad habit of his.<p>

Smithers, who rarely ever went to floors other than his own, had evidently come in sometime during the time that he had been out grabbing a quick meal from the nearby Indian restaurant*. Ben knew this because he had seen the gadgetmaker of MI6 leave Rochester's office just as he was opening the door to his own, holding something thick, mechanical, and about the size of an average baseball, in one of his pudgy hands. He spoke a few words back into the office about taking a break once in a while, and an inaudible response answered him.

Smithers and Rochester have been awfully close for two people who shouldn't know each other very well, Ben inferred from what few times he had seen them meet. The two of them, Blunt and Alex had been closer than peas in a pod in the weeks leading up to his partner's…incident.

The spy reprimanded himself. Continuing to think this way was going to make him see conspiracies in everything.

On the other hand, Alex had always told him, "There are no such thing as coincidences."

Comparing the pros and cons of both sides, he decided to compromise. He wouldn't be acting on suspicions by listening at his boss's door; just gathering information.

Taking a quick look at the clock on the opposite wall, he verified that in twenty minutes the first people would start returning to their desks. Slipping off his black polished leather shoes, and glancing around to make sure he was still alone in the common room, Ben slipped silently into the hallway, avoiding the creaky boards in the floor more on instinct than for deliberate purposes. At the director's office, he sunk down into a crouch and leaned his head against the wood to listen in on whoever was in the room.

A few quiet sounds, probably the movement of Rochester's wheelchair, were all he could hear for awhile, and then came the hiss of air and the release of breath in a relaxed sigh. Regular footfall, three quick steps one after the other, and back to the normal ones marked the rhythm of someone stumbling and quickly regaining their balance.

Rochester couldn't walk, so either someone else was in the room, or the director had quite the baggage of secrets coming in with him. He was so preoccupied with weighing the two ideas that he almost didn't hear the whispered words, "That feels better."

Ben was about to stand up, go back to his office and do some paperwork, when the same voice stated firmly, "It isn't polite to eavesdrop," so clearly that it could have been right next to his ear. Another intake of air seemed to precede the obvious, 'Leave now,' but the words never came.

Still half-crouched, with one knee touching the floor and a hand on the wall that he had been about to use as leverage to push himself into a standing position, he questioned the lack of dismissal and threw it out almost immediately. If there had been no direct order, he probably hadn't implied it. "Can I come in?" he quickly asked before his brain could override the stupid question.

When his answer came, it was another voice. "I am busy. Try back again in an hour or so. The conversations should be more interesting then." That would be Rochester speaking.

Ben blushed again. He was both encouraging him _and_ making fun of him at the same time. What kind of guy _was_ this? "I wanted to ask about the committee meeting on Wednesday, since I assume I'll have to go now that I'm deputy director and such…" He trailed off, unable to think of anything else off the top of his head.

"Some other time, Daniels," Rochester—the dry, soft-spoken voice was definitely the director—said. "Some other time."

Smithers chose just that moment to re-emerge from the elevator, the small electrical device once again in his hands. The plump man didn't appear to realize that Ben was in the vicinity, as he moved heedlessly past the spy to the door Ben had just been listening at. "I got the holo working better than new again. Just a bit of a glitch in the…"

He had opened the door and it was only then that he seemed to have recognized his terrible mistake. He reached out to close the portal, but Rochester stopped him with a raise of his hand. "It's alright."

The spy, and now deputy director of MI6, stood shell-shocked as his mind tried futilely to fit all the pieces together, only to discover that none of them matched. He thought about pinching his arm, but knew in the bottom of his heart that this was no dream…or nightmare.

"Smithers, you can leave the holo on that table by your side. I already know how to fit it in to my chair."

The gadgetmaker pursed his lips but followed the directions. "If something else comes up, you can call down to me and I will be right back up."

"You've done plenty for me today. Take a break and go out to lunch. There's nothing happening that I can't handle."

Smithers nodded reluctantly before plastering on one of his distinctive wide grins. "Just don't blow anything up." He left with a wary glance over at Ben, shaking his head as he aimed for the elevator and pressed the 'down' button.

"Ben, come in. I guess I need to hand around some explanations. And close the door behind you," Rochester added quickly to the end. "I can't let anything get leaked out. Things are sticky enough without more rumors to inflict more damage."

Still reeling from the blow this incident had just dealt him, Ben shut the door firmly behind him, resting a hand on the doorknob to remind himself that everything was as solid and real as it had ever been. He finally tore his gaze from the doorknob to the man, who wasn't the person he had just seen in his office this morning. This fair-haired and obviously non-crippled person in front of him was most definitely not the frail, cold-eyed man he had watched use the wheelchair as if it were as easy as walking.

No, this was his partner: Alex Rider.

"Could you hand me that thing on the table that Smithers left for me? I need to hook the system back up before anyone else comes in with questions of their own."

Ben grabbed the device, immediately surprised by its immense weight despite the box's small size, and handed it to Alex. The former-Rochester placed it in a hidden compartment in the left armrest, attaching all manners of wires and plugs into the device and releasing a satisfied grunt when a line of blue lights flashed on its top. The top of the armrest hooked perfectly back in place over it, and it was then that Ben noticed the small blue light blinking idly on the inside of the arm.

"It's a three-dimensional hologram that Smithers designed," Alex supplied with a small smile. "He's been working on it for years, but it still weighs too much to be carried around on the field."

"Unless you're in a wheelchair."

"Even then, it would be easily found once someone realized that the chair was a weapon and gadget all in itself." The smile faded as Alex averted his gaze to stare intently at the top of the doorframe. "You're mad at me, aren't you. I made you believe that I was dead for good, you and everyone else. It's okay if you don't forgive me. I really couldn't apologize enough, and it's-" He stopped suddenly and tensed as Ben caught him in a bone-crushing hug.

"There's nothing to forgive, Alex. We're spies and this is just one of the job hazards we signed up for."

Alex relaxed a little before falling to his knees, Ben's arms still around him, and did something the spy doubted anyone had seen for a long, long time. He cried. Underneath the sobs and hiccups, he was saying the same words over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Ben had seen many facets of Alex: the caring and humorous partner; the grumpy and reckless teenager; the resourceful and distant agent; but not once had he seen him lose control and let his emotions show through. It did give him some hope, however, that not all of this teenager's youth had been ripped from him during the years he'd been in this line of work.

When Alex's tears had dissolved to hiccups, he kept his head pressed against Ben's shoulder. "I really didn't *hic* want to go along *hic* with it, but the *hic* solution Smithers used to mess with *hic* my appearance had dissolved for some reason. Smithers didn't want *hic* to try again because of some strange side-effects he didn't want to gamble with, so he proposed the holo-*hic*-gram. I could move in it and everything, and as long as people didn't look too close, it was the best disguise I've ever used *hic*. But Blunt wants to retire because his daughter, Claire, was diagnosed with a tumor in her brain and he wants to spend some time with her before her surgery."

He wiped at his eyes, but left his head where it was. "I couldn't take his place even under the alias we had created because I was still listed in their database as having changed names. My paycheck was going to the same place as well, making it fairly obvious."

"So you died," Ben interrupted flatly.

"It had to be realistic for everyone to believe it. Blunt thought that making it look like the previous SCORPIA shooting would drive the point home and place the blame somewhere else."

Ben nodded, and then he realized what was missing from the statement. "Wait, the blame? You mean you were actually shot?"

"Sort of, but not really. The idea was to have bystanders who could confidently attest that not only had I been shot, but I had also _died _on scene before the ambulance arrived. It was almost the same way they faked my father's death on Albert Bridge, with a blood pack attached to my chest right where the sniper was aiming. Instead of bullet, the gun shot a form of poisoned dart. The black widow's poison** mimics death by taking the heart's pulse down to almost nothing, making breaths less noticeable and more shallow, and lowering the skin temperature. Without treatment, the victim can actually die, but the paramedics that arrived and told you I was dead were from St. Dominics. They'd already had the antidote prepared and ready to administer."

"And Agent Rochester?"

"He was real, but died in the earthquake K-Unit mentioned at the funeral." He chuckled as Ben gave an indignant yelp, the agent realizing that nothing in the world was private from Alex. "However, he had the perfect credentials and no friends, family, or people who knew him well enough to challenge my identity."

"It was perfect."

"Almost better than my gypsy act," he admitted pushing back out of Ben's hold to lean against the director's—and now his—desk, "but not as much fun. Smithers is even working on a smaller version of the hologram to fit in the bottom of a shoe or bag, should Gene Rochester get a surgery enabling him to walk for the first time in years." Alex gave him a half-hearted smile. "I've never done a cover as deep as this around people I already know. It isn't quite as easy as I imagined."

"Then, Smithers and Blunt are the only ones who know who you are? No one else knows the secret behind the head of MI6?"

He nodded. "Even Mrs. Jones had to believe my death was final. Should anyone realize what Blunt has done…what MI6 has done by placing me in this position and what kind of work I've been doing, it would destroy MI6 altogether. The tarnish it would put on this company's name would take longer to erase than it took to build this up in the first place."

"Blunt couldn't find _anyone_ else?"

"His plan had originally been to promote Mrs. Jones. She would never have accepted after SCORPIA shot me. Putting agents in the line of fire is hard enough, but citizens and children? She couldn't handle that. So Blunt convinced an ally deep in MI5 to offer a nice position that she gratefully took without a second thought.

"The failproof option, should his deputy director become an impossible cause, was originally Smithers."

"Smithers?" Ben asked incredulously.

"They're much closer than you, or anyone else, knows; but that's not for me to tell. The point is that Smithers also turned it down. He isn't around people for his own reasons, the main one being that he just finds them dull and boring. At least, that's what he told me once. You can see why he would turn down the offer. He already had the job he wanted."

"He asked you that day you…died. I heard a bit of the conversation when I passed by the door." And then tried to listen in without any of you seeing me. He didn't add in that last part, wanting to keep the eavesdropping a secret in case he got the chance to do it again. Somehow, he knew the chance would present itself and Alex would be the one 'accidentally' leaving the door cracked open.

"That was technically the _second_ time. When I staged my death by cancer for everyone outside the workplace, he slipped the idea that I could fool _everyone_ and not just them. I turned it down. I couldn't imagine leaving you, K-Unit, and everyone who works here." Alex bit down on his lip and closed his eyes, probably remembering Blunt's exact words, Ben thought. "It wasn't until he asked me the second time that I really understood the depth of how much people in our jobs sacrifice. We put ourselves in danger, but we also put our very souls on the table, changing them to adjust to the situation." He blinked and opened his eyes again. His eyes hadn't changed back to their natural color, staying the deep brown as Smithers' formula had altered them. "It's lonely, Ben. I don't know which parts of me are the real me, and which parts are the façade anymore."

Ben stood up, stretching his legs out. "That might not necessarily be a bad thing. If your experiences change you, then it's to prepare you for what comes later on." He reached out a hand and lifted Alex up when he took hold of it. "I could talk to K-Unit and maybe arrange a meeting. As the director of an espionage business," he said with complete seriousness, but a twinkle in his eye, "you'd need some sort of security to watch your back."

Alex nodded knowingly back. "I can't think of anyone better to do the job, and the pay might not be too bad either."

Ben grinned. "Why of _course_ not. You do run things around here now, if what I've heard is correct."

"Really? I hadn't noticed." He rolled his eyes to emphasize the sarcasm. "Now help me get the holo back on. You're my deputy now so you might as well be of some use."

"Hey!"

* * *

><p>AN: So this was tons of fun because I was confined to a wheelchair for a little over two months last year, and honestly, I wish it had been longer. You'd never believe how fast you can go in those… Good times, good times. Anyhow, there's more to this. I'm not quite done with this story yet, so hang on while I get the last chapter(s) in. After that...well, I might have another AR story ready to go (that won't be connected to this arc in any way). I love this universe as well as how _Scorpia Rising _ended. All my work is a tribute to Horowitz's wonderful story, though I have to say that I wish he hadn't cut it off there. See you guys in my next (and possibly last) installment of this arc.

*My father's business has their headquarters in Bristol, England, and every time he to travel there for work, he jokes that Indian food is as popular in England as Mexican food is in the States. From what I can tell, it seems to be true.

**My internet has been down for awhile and I didn't get to check if this was true. However, I was once told this by someone who seemed to know what they were talking about. If it's wrong, I'll find the actual spider.


	3. Chapter 3

Part three of _Façade_. This chapter is basically spanning from the end of _Poison_ to 'present day' (Part 2) from Alex's POV. Hope you like, and really hope you review. *hint hint* ~ SamayouTamashi

* * *

><p>Alex was slumped over on his desk, ignoring the idea that he should be helping Ben out on the papers, and trying to catch up on weeks of lost sleep. To his dismay, people kept bringing in things for him to sign and date, interrupting his naps. He had just waved the last of them out and returned to his desk when a knock came from the door he had closed moments before. With a weary sigh and irritable, "what?" he opened the door for seemingly the hundredth time that day.<p>

No one was there.

Grumbling under his breath, he nearly missed the folded slip of lined notebook paper that had been tucked into the doorframe and fluttered to the floor. He bent down to unfold it, reading the two short lines of script quickly, and tossed the note into his trashcan, which promptly engulfed it in a blazing inferno (courtesy of Smithers). He locked his office up behind him and walked over to enter the door at the end of the hallway.

Based on the short message, and that it had instructed him specifically to make sure no one saw him going into the office, he knew something drastic, and highly secretive, was going on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ben furiously scouring the halls, likely looking for the recently relocated coffee machine based on his zombie impersonation. Scuffing his shoe on the wooden floor just enough that it would catch his partner's attention, yet look completely accidental, he also managed to leave the door cracked open the slightest it could be and not be overly noticeable while making a click sound with his tongue to imitate the sound of it snapping closed.

No knock or asking for permission was required to enter.

"Rider."

"Blunt. What do you want?"

As always, the director of MI6 dove straight to the heart of the matter. "We, and by that I mean I, need you to die."

Alex blinked a few times, and considered pinching himself, to make sure he wasn't in some kind of warped dream or alternate reality. As Blunt continued speaking, however, he knew he was in the right place and time. "The genetic recombination formula that Smithers derived has not lasted quite as permanently as the tests he ran suggested. Already your hair is fading gradually back to normal and you seem to have lost at least half an inch since before you left for Delhi."

"So I have to die? That seems a little _extreme_, to say the least. Even for you." He already knew what was going to follow, or at least the paraphrasing of it, but the more Ben could catch without being caught, the better. Blunt, despite being the incredible spymaster that he was, couldn't seem to see the clear signs he had been leaving for colleagues with brains between them to catch on to.

Blunt dismissed his last remark with a wave of his hand. "Not literally, but it would have to be accepted by everyone here. Including your partner, Mr. Daniels. Otherwise would be contrary to the point."

"It couldn't be done with simply a flick of the fingers, Blunt. Anyone here would be suspicious if I just up and died. It just wouldn't work, but maybe something done over a longer period of time…like how I died at school of cancer. Nobody suspected a thing. These people are trained professionals, not a bunch of naïve school children."

"I would do something of that sort, but it can't be done slowly. You need to die relatively soon for this to work out. Already, my resignation papers are signed, dated and ready to go once I release them." He sighed, a sign of weariness, stress, and emotional grief not normal for him to possess, much less openly display. "My daughter, Claire has…well, not long as the doctors are saying. She has a tumor in her brain that will likely, if not definitely, be fatal. In this job, I can't spend any time with my family, and I need to be with them right now. You will have to take over. I honestly can't find anyone else to put here without regrets."

Alex nodded slowly, realizing with chilling lucidity that the director had just dealt him a complement, and not even a two-sided one at that. "I could see if one of my contacts in PHOENIX could pretend to gun me down. With a better cover than my current one, I could just have you hire me back into MI6. A resume and background could be easily created." He thought on that and then shot it down just as fast as it had come. "On the other hand, it couldn't be done that easily or quickly, and a quick elevation in MI6 would be suspicious."

"There is already something…devised, to put it lightly. I could get someone from one of the more recently active terrorist groups, but maybe if it were to be someone nobody saw or heard, it would disappear all the more quickly afterwards. It might be more difficult to pull off."

The spy's ears perked up at how quickly Blunt had pulled this together from 'out of the blue,' so to speak. "So going with this plan, I'd still need to look so different that no one would look too closely. Maybe if Smithers could fix something up, it would work. There're too many people who know me." _Way too many_, he mentally revised.

"We can't do more than we already have. It would have to be done delicately and _differently_, and no one would ever see you."

Resting his elbows on his knees and bending forward, he steepled his fingers below his chin and said thoughtfully, "There would be questions. Lots of them."

Blunt nodded, obviously having foreseen this. "I understand, and Smithers is working on something new for you to test out. You've witnessed it a couple times already."

Alex knew just the thing. 'Rochester,' as Smithers had christened it, was a three-dimensional hologram that had the capability to encase the entire body and even change the voice, if need be. On several occasions over the past few months, he had come through the office to speak to Blunt, Alex, and sometimes both of them, to test out its capabilities. Alex himself had even tried using it once already while Ben was getting his gadgets from Smithers. His partner hadn't suspected a thing.

With the exception of the fingerprint problem (which would register as the user beneath the holographic image) and the short battery life, it was exceptional and utterly flawless.

"I'd have to die," he repeated, tasting the bitter words in his mouth. "Completely and truly this time." It would, essentially, be a true death if he had to become another person entirely with a new persona unlike his own and no friends or property to call his own. Although… Blunt probably had something lined up.

The director nodded, reading his exact thoughts most likely. "I can arrange it. It would be simple and fast, I swear."

Albert Bridge, Alex immediately remembered. He was going to have him shot like his father had been. "I…understand, I think. I just really didn't want to do this so early," he confessed. "I knew this would happen, but I didn't think I'd be so young." _Then again, you're never too young to die_.

"You knew it would happen eventually, though."

"True," he sighed in defeat. It was as if the man honestly could read his mind. "How will we manage this with only the two of us managing it?"

"Smithers is doing most of the work, and," he looked _almost_ apologetic, "he's had the strategy laid out for some time now, should you ever need to go about things in this way."

"Even Smithers?" The whole world was against him now. "I really couldn't have turned this down, could I?"

"You could have, but eventually we would have managed to work it out, even without you knowing." He didn't even make the pretense of looking regretful. Alex knew he'd been caught already; hook, line and sinker.

"What will I do after…well after I die?"

"Leave that to me. The rest will be explained at St. Dominics."

"St Dom-?"

"It's going to be soon, just outside the building. And put these on," he tossed two blood bags at him, which he caught despite the slippery plastic and general disturbance at holding human blood in his hands. "Try to put them right over your heart and a little more to the center. Hitting the main blood vessels might not be the best idea."

"Here?" he gestured.

"Further in…yes. That should do it."

Alex quickly taped the edges of the plastic to his chest with pieces of duck tape from Blunt's desk. When the director was certain they were secured correctly, he shooed him from the office. "Try to be outside by the parking lot in a the next three minutes. The gun should be ready to go by then. And," Alex turned around again, "not a word to your partner."

Ruffling his hair, he walked past Ben, who had been standing relatively close to the door as expected, and made himself appear as distracted as was humanly possible. Immediately he made a bee-line for his office, unlocking the door and twisting another key free from the ring of them clipped together. The top drawer of his desk required the same key as the rest of them, but the hidden opening into the hollow divider below it had a different, tinier one. Fitting the key into the tiny hole and prying free the piece of wood, he grabbed the two dogtags, one for each of the former spies in his family, attached to a cheap silver chain from the bottom and stuffed them into his pocket. The good luck carried from mission to mission shouldn't suddenly decide to stop today, but that wasn't the reason he was bringing it. His possessions under the names Rider and Bertrand would both go somewhere else so as to keep him disconnected from his old identities. Bank accounts under the two identities would transfer savings to MI6, not him directly. This would be the only thing keeping him tied to his original and 'normal' life.

He locked the door behind him again, 'accidentally' dropping the keys, and sliding the one to the extra drawer under one of the unoccupied techie desks, before locking the office behind him. He nearly ran into his partner as he turned around too fast. "Oh, Ben. I haven't seen you in awhile. Where are you going?"

"Coffee machine. Someone relocated it while we were gone, and I've been searching for it ever since." And did it ever look like he was in need of the extra caffeine. Alex winced internally as he realized that he didn't look much different. Lovely.

"I think I passed it at some point. I can show you."

It was unnervingly quiet as he pressed the button to go down, unsure how much Ben knew and/or guessed at. This would be his last chance to speak with him before he became a complete stranger to him.

"First floor?"

He repressed the urge to jump as Ben asked a completely innocent question. "Yeah, I've got some errands to run for Blunt while the day is still young and I think the coffee machine might be next to the receptionist's desk down there." All of which was _technically_ true.

"Oh." The elevator doors opened and the tension dissolved as Ben saw the easily recognizable, and highly prized, machine shipped directly from Above.

As he started it up, Alex blurted out, "Ben?" as quickly as he could, before the rational part of his brain caught up with him and forcibly clamped his mouth shut. His partner turned to him as soon as the machine was on. "Hmm?" Alex looked away, unable to meet his eyes. The result of that would likely be spilling his guts and completely opting out of this most recent identity crisis. "I…" He bit his lip and aimed for something short that needed to be said. "Don't let them call me princess."

His feet carried him quickly to the prearranged location and as the two shots rang out, he thought the darts hurt more than bullets; even hitting the plastic blood-filled bags first, they still managed to pierce well into his shoulder.

Something in the darts was slowing his systems down, probably a fast-acting toxin meant to fake the appearance of death, and he only vaguely recalled seeing Ben and telling him something important. He felt his hand fall back down to earth as if from a distance (wait, when had he picked it up?) and saw a grey haze cover his vision as he drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>When he woke up, it was in a familiar white room with an IV in his arm, an oxygen mask obscuring the lower part of his vision, and a serious migraine in full battle-to-the-death mode. To his left, he could vaguely identify two nurses and a doctor fine-tuning the instruments pumping the anti-venom and what looked like water into the intravenous tube. Somewhere in front of him, Blunt was in a plastic visitor's chair. As he noticed Alex's alertness, he gave a brief nod.<p>

In that one gesture, it told him everything he needed to know. Success.

With a grateful sigh, he relaxed into the sheets and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

><p>Almost an entire day later, he was fully conscious while Blunt handed him identification papers previously owned by Gene Harrison Rochester. Documents detailing various assignments, both those known to the general espionage community and those kept hidden away, the lives and deaths of any friends and family he had once had (though all were six feet under, making Alex mildly suspicious), as well as the lives of the few other aliases he had kept up until the end were scattered across the hospital bed sheets as he reviewed the important parts. Various passports from multiple countries, credit cards with corresponding account numbers, two driver's licenses, and an assorted key collection were piled on a small table beside his bed, sorted by the identity they were intended to match with.<p>

"Now, there were an unfortunately large number of witnesses to the collapse of the building Rochester was in during the earthquake. However, no one witnessed him ever leaving the building, alive or otherwise."

"You intend to play on that?" Alex grimaced as the skin over his chest twisted when he moved. The poison had been isolated and treated as promptly as possible, but bruise-like scarring left clear indications of where the darts had punctured his skin. The doctor he had spoken to was optimistic that the irritation in the affected muscles and skin would dissolve within the next two or three days, but two white splotches would likely be there forever.

"Yes," came the confirmation. "If Rochester had survived, he would likely have been at least partially crippled. He was definitely in an area where getting hit would have been nearly impossible. A lower spinal injury seems adequate.

"The wheelchair itself will also serve to hold the hologram's base, which is still too large to carry in a bag or briefcase. I am told that Smithers has managed to put extra fuel into the holo by setting the chair up to convert friction from the wheels into electrical energy."

Alex leaned back into the wonderfully fluffy pillows a nice nurse had brought in when he had fully woken up. Between Blunt and Smithers, the two most ingenious minds in the espionage game, how could he have ever doubted this plan? Everything down to the last minute details had been planned out far in advance. The basic story behind 'Rochester' had been established once Smithers started testing out the holo's capabilities. He'd assumed at the time that it was some kind of test, to be able to create a person who didn't exist and keep up the pretense over long periods of time. Looking back, he should have seen this coming. Blunt never acted on a small scale. Everything he did had a specific purpose, not a single move wasted.

"When's the funeral? I assume I should attend?"

"Not until tomorrow morning. I'll announce my resignation at nine, giving plenty of time to any employees wishing to attend."

"And I assume control shortly thereafter." He nodded his head in resignation to his pre-determined fate, the one that his successes had only encouraged and solidified. Just as he had suspected as the sniper lined up the shot, he hadn't been able to escape his father or uncle's fates. The job had swept him in so far that he was going to lose even his own life to the cause; from this point on, every move he made, even those at wherever his new home was, would be calculated in weeks in advance. Nothing was free anymore, and no freedoms left to him could be taken for granted anymore.

Blunt left him to memorize the plethora of documents detailing the many faces of his new identity as the anti-venom and water solutions were flushed through his blood to clean his systems. By the time Smithers came up to bring his wheelchair with the attached hologram, the only signs of his recent poisoning were small tremors in his legs as he got gingerly out of the hospital bed. The gadgetmaker was happily explaining the many functions that he had installed in the chair that Alex, or rather Rochester, would be using for quite some time to come; the least of these were a tube in the right armrest to shoot out sleeping gas, a short-term hovering capability that could only be sustained for seventy seconds before using up the entire battery, a tracking device, and a phone built into the side that used voice-commands to call, search the internet and MI6 databases, and take photos from a tiny camera in his headrest. Everything had been accounted for.

Smithers' car was his biggest shock of the day. With a wheelchair and rather…plump man, a small hybrid car had been the exact opposite of his expectations. Smithers explained how it worked, but it basically boiled down to a couple things, the main one being optical illusions. The car was short, but the sides jutted out significantly more than normal and the floor considerably closer to the ground. A small ramp was lowered for Alex to be pushed into the back, the seats having been removed earlier.

Evidently, this car was the gadgetmaker's pride and joy. While there were very few gadgets in the car to speak of, which meant less than a dozen, the car itself was virtually untraceable. Every three and a half minutes, the colors would change ever so slightly and the license plate would randomly choose new letters and numbers. Everything on the exterior was mutable, including the manufacturer's name, the slant of the windshield, and the very tread on the wheels.

Alex chortled as Smithers boasted of its sheer ingeniousness and impenetrability. He didn't bring up the most obvious flaw—that the driver himself might be recognized. However, knowing Smithers, he had something up his sleeve to fix even that*.

The funeral was considerably more solemn than his previous one, he thought in wry humor. After all, how many people were able to not only attend their own funeral, but go enough times to judge them? To be truthful, however, there were a considerably larger amount of people attending this one. Many of them, he almost laughed as Smithers extended the small ramp to let him out, were here in disguise and looked surprised to see each other. Likely, this was the largest gathering of spies the world had ever seen in modern times. Even he was shocked to see some people, like the prime minister and other foreign leaders, joining the mourners. Here and there could be seen folks specializing in the underground and black market work keeping to themselves in the darker corners where they hoped to remain conspicuous, some doing better than their counterparts, and leaving white flowers beside and atop the casket.

White seemed to be the theme here, in sharp contrast to the black worn for the occasion (interrupted by the occasional white, deemed in parts of Asia to be the traditional color of death). While many flowers were in the most glorious shades of red and orange, alongside deep blues displaying hues to rival that of the deepest seas and most stunningly clear summer skies, the vast majority were white. White roses in particular appeared to have struck most people as the appropriate departing gift for the young spy.

Alex purposely avoided meeting any eyes, despite knowing that even the most experienced spies would not once notice the teenage spy among them, but hoping to ward off any wishing to speak with him. The one pair he didn't avert from was difficult to simply cast aside. He stared as blankly as his strong emotions permitted into the face of his former partner, Ben Daniels, before forcefully pulling away. Something inside him yelled that he _knew_, that his partner had the truth discovered before the game had barely begun, but the overwhelming sane portion of his mind replied that while Ben probably suspected something out of hand, he had no idea of what was going on behind the curtains. Nobody did, excluding those involved in its direct operation and a handful at St. Dominics sworn to keep his secret to their graves.

Proceeding to the casket—his casket—he used its sheen to silently observe the group of four standing unbothered by the steady flow of people. It appeared that K-Unit had managed to make the funeral in spite of their work and incredible distance from England at the time of his 'death'. He looked away as Eagle shed more tears for the life he had supposedly lost, wishing he could jump up and join them as he once could have. But those days were lost, gone with the rest of Alex Rider's life. What remained was Gene Rochester, the new director of MI6 as of tomorrow, and no room was left over for his old life and feelings.

As he reached the coffin, almost flinching back as he saw how perfectly his face had been reconstructed, he lightly rested a hand on the lacquered and neatly polished mahogany. "They'll miss you," he murmured under his breath to the imposter lying at rest beneath his hand, as if burying Alex Rider with this lifeless body.

Turning the wheels over to where Blunt was standing in conference with Jones and the Prime Minister, he caught enough of K-Unit and Ben's conversation to understand that they hadn't yet guessed at anything they shouldn't.

Exiting hearing range as Ben left to go to a shortened day at work, the rest of his day passed in a steady blur. Blunt announced his retirement and declared Rochester his replacement. Papers had to be assembled and mailed to the intended recipients, who would then legalize the affair. Final plans had to be laid out between Alex and Blunt, as Blunt supplied him with his address and private phone line in case things would go awry and urgent help required, as well as with the keys and location of his new residence.

It wasn't until Alex crossed the threshold into the moderately-sized, but comfortably furnished, apartment leased out to his new identity that he began registering his surroundings again. Before he could relax completely, he used his fingernail to push aside the light switch panel to reveal a second set of switches. Turning the first one on, he immediately heard the deadbolt and extra security precautions engage in various portions of the house. The second switch had less audible consequences, but he knew that his heat signature was being masked. As the third one clicked on, the hologram installed in his chair gained a 'life' of its own, sweeping across the floor in pre-programmed motions to pour itself a cup of coffee. Of course, all the accessories in the room, even down to the carpets and drapes, were images of the most advanced holographic imagery Smithers had ever created. The apartment was completely wired, proficient in detecting even the slightest breeze or footstep and using Smither's technology to recreate the reactions of every fiber of affected cloth or carpet as it would act if it were real. Even the hologram of Rochester would react to changes in the temperature or possible intruders.

As soon as everything was in place, Alex locked the wheelchair by the bed he 'officially' slept in before stumbling on stiff legs to a door hidden by the holographic closet that adjoined this apartment with the one next door, owned by another false identity connected in no way to either Rochester or Rider. It was in this secondary, slightly smaller, and only sparsely decorated room (none of the decorum being holographic) that Alex would actually live, eat and sleep.

Tonight, Alex decided unconsciously to skip over the eating part, falling on to his bed and into sleep before he hit the sheets.

* * *

><p>The following morning, Alex thumped the button on top of the alarm clock to give him five more minutes, only to realize that he had done this twice already. He didn't bother to straighten the bed as he tumbled out, wincing when the light from the shuttered window hit him right in the eyes. "Ugh, why do I have to be at work so early?" he grumbled as he looked for the fridge, where a pop would be sitting to give him the daily caffeine burst necessary for going to the office at <em>four in the freaking morning.<em>

It was a rhetorical question. He had to be at the office first to switch off all the land mine fields and whatever else Smithers had planted as 'preventative measures' since himself and the gadgetmaker, who wouldn't be seen until about noon, were the only ones who knew about the extra lengths they were taking to protect their country's deepest secrets. No more leaks would be occurring any time soon.

Changing out of the clothes he had fallen asleep in, Alex grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and t-shirt. Before he slipped into the new shirt, he took the bottle of cream from his small bag of belongings and smeared it over the two healing puncture wounds. While the black widow's poison had been eradicated from his system, the doctor had told him to use the cream once a day for the next month to kill anything that might still be lingering in the area.

He drank the last of the pop quickly, tossing the can in the trashcan when it was completely emptied, and flicked the last light switch on the panel by the door up and down in one swift movement.

From Alex's point of view, nothing happened, but he knew that in the other room, 'Rochester' was getting out of bed, putting a bland suit on, and fitting himself in the wheelchair parked by his bed. He patiently waited for the small green light on the coffee machine to blink, signaling that he could step into the next room over. A minute later, and the light flickered three or four times before becoming lifelessly red again.

Fitting the key in the knob and pressing his hand to the camouflaged panel beside the door frame, he listened to the faint hum as his fingerprints were scanned. A soft click, and the door opened. Time to start his first day as the director of MI6.

* * *

><p>By the time all of the alarms to enter the building had been shut down, the regular systems restarted, and he was finally settled down in his new office, it was almost five and the earliest employees were coming in, bleary-eyed and still yawning as they clutched styrofoam cups of strong coffee in their unoccupied hands.<p>

Alex secluded himself in his office, clearing out emails and marking a tele-conference on his calendar for the first Monday of next month. The prime minister wanted an overview after he'd had a couple weeks on the job to see how it was coming along, and likely he'd invite some of his staff in to talk. He was an amiable person, to say the least, and had only the best intentions. Well, most of the time.

There were also forwarded messages, all encoded, about the recent assassination of the Russian diplomat to England in his own country. A team would need to be sent in to investigate his strange death, as impalement by two metal poles was not listed under natural causes of death.

At around nine, he abandoned his work to convince Ben to be his deputy director via some underhanded means. He winced internally as his former partner slipped up on his name twice. Ben hadn't figured out that the assassination had been fake, and even though that had been the original plan, he wasn't sure that he liked how it had turned out. And it wasn't just Ben. Other MI6 employees that he had personally known, while he was still Rider, had taken to wearing black ties and dark jewelry as if to remind themselves of what they thought they had lost.

By the time he left, it was hard to look Ben in the eyes. Somehow, he managed to keep the blank, and somewhat amused, expression up. It helped to have a holographic image concealing him, but not much. Lying to everyone he cared about was going to kill him if it was this difficult.

The next four hours were slow and tiring. There would have to be new spies recruited in the next two months to replace the two MI6 had lost, namely himself and Todd Fisher, who had been undercover as an Afghani civilian and gotten caught in the crossfire of American and terrorist forces. That would mean several more hours searching through the various databases to find the most talented, intelligent, and unique characters in Britain. The first places to search would be in the best of the best college students, who would be in need of a job to cover their school expenses, and in the military services. Others, and more likely to be chosen, would be those who managed to get their resumes to him without prodding; Jenny McAlister, for example, had hacked MI6's computer system overnight without setting off a single alarm and placed her resume among the classified files, sending an email to the director himself—Blunt at the time—to check his systems for what she had left there. She had been sent an acceptance letter two days later after a thorough background check.

He was about to immerse himself in the mission files for the next quarter, which basically meant tallying up who needed to take a break and who hadn't been out enough, when someone knocked at his door. "Come in," he said, not looking up from his papers as Smithers entered. Alex finished signing his name before looking up. "You're in early today? What brings you here?" He gestured at the door, instinctively understanding that whatever was said needed to be kept within these four walls.

Smithers shut the door behind him and sat in the chair opposite Alex. "Nothing too much, old chap. Last night, I was thinking that there is one small problem with the holo. Recharging the battery takes longer than the battery lasts, meaning you would have to keep it constantly charging even if you use it less than half of the day."

"You have a different idea for it?"

"Yes. By rerouting several lines to reuse excess energy and minimize the amount of it spent overall, it should increase performance threefold."

Alex frowned momentarily. "Could you do it quickly? There aren't many people in the office at this hour, with most of them out for their lunch breaks, but I don't like being without my cover for very long."

"It shouldn't take more than a minute or two. No more than a basic wiring problem. I would fix it right here except that I don't want to expose the inside of the battery to a non-sterile environment. Too expensive to worth risking."

"I trust your judgment, Smithers." Alex shut the battery off, prying the top of the armrest off and handed the black case to the man across from him, who stood as he accepted it. "Close the door tightly on your way out."

Smithers nodded but deliberated for a moment. When Alex raised an eyebrow, he shook his head. "Just thought I heard something. Good to see you again, Alex."

"It's Rochester now," the teenager corrected, despite the lack of hologram to keep his appearance as that of the dead man.

"To me, you'll always be the teenage spy," he laughed. "I'll be right back." The door closed completely shut behind him.

Alex stretched his arms and looked around the large room. Smithers had impeccable hearing that bordered on that of the keenest dogs, probably due to some small gadget on his person. With a last wary scan of his office, he rolled the chair out from behind his desk and eased himself out of the seat. The chair hissed as he stood up, the wheels countering for the lack of weight on top of them. With a sigh he stretched his legs out, shaking the pins and needles from them as they regained feeling after hours of cramping.

Crossing the room proved to be more difficult than previously imagined, as he stumbled once when his left leg stiffened again. As his legs adjusted to a non-confining postion, he muttered, "That feels better." He returned to his desk when he caught sight of a shadow blocking the light filtering in from below his office door. "It isn't polite to eavesdrop," he told the eavesdropper, who he guessed to be Ben from previous experiences.

The shadow shifted slightly to the right. "Can I come in?" asked a familiar voice. Alex rubbed his forehead as his suspicions were confirmed.

Recalling that 'Rochester' had a different voice than his natural one, he altered his own to match the deeper pitch. "I am busy. Try back again in an hour or so." He smirked. "The conversations should be more interesting then."

That made the shadow move again. "I wanted to ask about the committee meeting on Wednesday, since I assume I'll have to go now that I'm deputy director and such…" Ben was going to need some work on making cover stories off the top of his head. While he brought up a genuine issue that would have needed addressing at some later time, his delivery was shaky at best

"Some other time, Daniels. Some other time."

He was about to turn back to his work when he heard a familiar heavy set of footsteps: Smithers. This wasn't going to end well.

The door opened as the gadgetmaker showed off the improved battery. "I got the holo working better than new again. Just a bit of a glitch in the…" Smither realized his mistake the second after he made it, when he saw Ben out of the corner of his eye. He quickly made to shut the door, but Alex stopped him.

"It's alright. Smithers, you can leave the hologram on that table by your side. I already know how to fit it in to my chair," he told him. This situation could still be salvaged as long as certain measures were taken, and done quickly.

"If something else comes up, you can call down to me and I will be right back up." The poor gadgetmaker had turned an unhealthy shade of white, and Alex was quick to shoo him out of the room as soon as he laid the battery down.

"You've done plenty for me today," he assured the worried man before him. "Take a break and go out to lunch. There's nothing happening that I can't handle."

Smithers seemed to think everything over before giving him his trademark grin, though it looked fake this time. "Just don't blow anything up," he cautioned in all seriousness. As he passed the frozen Ben, who looked just about as bad as Smithers, he shook his head in dismay but continued to the elevator.

Now for the hard part.

"Ben, come in. I guess I need to hand around some explanations. And close the door behind you," Alex added quickly to the end. "I can't let anything get leaked out. Things are sticky enough without more rumors to inflict more damage."

He did so, but Alex was worried that the draft from under the door would knock the spy over. Gradually, the caution and uncertainty was fading from his partner's…former partner's eyes to be replaced with confusion.

"Could you hand me that thing on the table that Smithers left for me? I need to hook the system back up before anyone else comes in with questions of their own." One person was bad enough. More than that, and he would have to change agencies next time. "It's a three-dimensional hologram that Smithers designed," he supplied to fill the silence as Ben passed the heavy box over to him. The wires were simple enough to reconnect to the inside of the armrest, each one color-coded to prevent mistakes. On top of the box, each light signaled whether the connections had been made, and he grunted when all eight flashed in the affirmative. A small blue light switched on inside the arm of the wheelchair, announcing that all systems were functioning and fully operational. "He's been working on it for years, but it still weighs too much to be carried around on the field."

"Unless you're in a wheelchair."

He looked up in surprise as Ben found his voice again. "Even then, it would be easily found once someone realized that the chair was a weapon and gadget all in itself." Alex suddenly averted his gaze, unable to meet Ben's eyes without the hologram between them. It had been too much then, and now it was overwhelming. He had already given up on returning to his previous life, and now he had been dumped unceremoniously back into it without a second thought. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're mad at me, aren't you." It wasn't even a question as he already accepted it. "I made you believe that I was dead for good, you and everyone else. It's okay if you don't forgive me. I really couldn't apologize enough, and it's—" He stopped suddenly and tensed as Ben caught him in a hug, caught completely by surprise.

"There's nothing to forgive, Alex. We're spies and this is just one of the job hazards we signed up for."

Alex's breath caught in his throat as he realized that Ben didn't care what he had done. He was just glad that he was back. He finally relaxed in his hold and fell to his knees, bringing Ben down with him. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he gave up all the pretenses and let his emotions run rampant. He cried.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh boy, this got to be a long one. The really sad part is that I even cut this in half and will post the second part of this one as the next chapter. By the way, if you check this one with the last chapter of _Poison _and the first two chapters of _Façade_, every single quote lines up. I totally deserve an award for the amount of time and effort that took.

So as a second note, I need to tell all of you that my internet is completely gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Nonexistant. You get the point. If any of you are experts in computer stuff, please please _please_ send me a PM of ideas. I have done _everything_ including replaced both the modem and router, and **nothing works**. Posting is going to be really sluggish as I borrow a friend's computer to get these up, and he's going on holiday next weekend… Basically until my internet is resurrected I'm screwed.

Ideas? They are greatly appreciated if you have any. I can access the internet for short spans of time to check my email and inbox but not long enough, most times, to get anything up.

*For anyone who has read _Scorpia Rising_, I just had to throw this in. :]


	4. Chapter 4

Part four and end of _Façade_. This chapter spans the same chapters as the previous one, but it's from K-Unit's POV. I couldn't stick with just one person, so all of them get to put in their own thoughts. ~ SamayouTamashi

* * *

><p>The sergeant fingered the letter in his hand. His hair was ruffled and hat somewhat off-center in a manner suggesting that he had just been awoken minutes ago, leaving no time for the proper self-inspections that he should have done before tending to his post. He took no notice of this fact. It was the mysterious letter in his hand that had been occupying his every thought since waking up.<p>

The old-fashioned wax seal fastening the envelope shut had been emblazoned with the Royal and General Bank's crest. Holding it up to the light, one could see the lion and unicorn standing protectively to either side of it: the symbol of SIS, Britain's Secret Intelligence Service, also known as MI6.

It was addressed to the K-Unit of SAS at Brecon Beacons. Only by sheer luck had the post arrived on the very day that they were supposed to be shipped back to Afghanistan. He'd sent one of the newer recruits to rouse the unit only a few minutes ago. Now, he leaned back in his chair, examining the letter between his fingers. MI6 never sent letters unless there was no harm in it being intercepted, but they also didn't send out messages on every little whim.

* * *

><p>Wolf had been less than pleased to get the orders sending him into the same war zone after his week of break, but K-Unit weren't the only ones going continuously into the area. Three other units were going on the same plane as them this time over.<p>

He was also none too happy to be woken so early by Possum, one the four new recruits in training here that made up R-Unit. As his name suggested, Possum was the shyest in his group. He flinched away from hand-to-hand combat and despised guns, but he was quicker than a cheetah and rumored to be the best shot that SAS had seen since Owl's death in a raid two months previously. The young man was nervously tapping his foot as Wolf shuffled sleepily over to open the cabin door. "Yeah?"

"I have, uh, I mean to say that the sergeant has, um, requested that K-Unit, I mean all of you, come to his office as soon as possible. Or in two minutes, maybe, um…"

"I got it," he sighed. This young man was no better than a school boy with his nervous stutter and jumpy demeanor. SAS must be losing quite a large number of troops to recruit him in his first try, despite how well his shooting scores might have been. "You can go now."

"Yes, uh, sir."

Wolf rolled his eyes as he shut the door and kicked a snoring Eagle from his bunk. Now he felt old, and he was only twenty-five. "Everyone up and decent in thirty seconds or Eagle won't be the only one with his butt on the floor." The aforementioned teammate grunted from under his foot, still only half conscious.

Snake and Falcon were jumping up and dressing the second their team leader finished his threat, not wanting to have their faces planted firmly into the floorboards. Eagle rolled around for a second before grabbing his clothes at about half the speed he probably should have been moving at.

As he straightened out his shirt and laced his boots up, Wolf looked in displeasure at the sun's position in the sky, or rather its lack of position. It was still dark out, making it around five in the morning, and almost an hour till the official wake-up call was to be sounded. He could sense his day already starting at an all-time low.

Once Eagle looked…less zombie-like, the four made their way across the camp to the sergeant's office. As Snake muttered at Eagle to quit snoring, Wolf knocked on the door, opening it when he heard the voice inside loudly acknowledge them. "Come in!"

Wolf kicked Eagle in the shins, for good measure, and stood stiffly at attention in front of the sergeant's desk. The rest of his unit, including Eagle to his grateful surprise, followed suit. "Sir. Possum said that you needed us here urgently, sir."

"At ease," was the reply. The unit was surprised to hear how tired the sergeant sounded. Evidently they hadn't been the only ones startled awake at an ungodly hour. "The messenger who showed up at my door this morning told me this was priority mail, and to get to you four as fast as it possibly could. To answer your questions: no, I don't know what it is; and yes, I do know who sent it. So open it before I have an anxiety attack."

Wolf caught the manila envelope as it was thrown to him, his eyebrows, and suspicions, immediately rising as he caught sight of the wax seal. "The bank, sir?"

"Not just any bank. Look at it through the light."

He frowned, but went with the suggestion. The second the two extra figures were illuminated, he understood. "Shit. What does MI6 want now?" His teammates shifted uneasily.

"Open the damn thing. I already told you I don't have a goddamn clue."

All of them leaned forward from where they were either sitting or standing to get a better look as he tore the seal off and unfolded the paper. "This..." He stared at the letters printed on the white sheet again, and a third time. Once they were seared in his memory, he dropped the letter as if it had erupted suddenly into flames. "No. Hell no! He's… fucking hell." Without a second glance back, Wolf threw open the door and slammed it shut again behind him.

The sergeant and remaining members of K-Unit shared an incredulous look. Wolf was never one to lose his temper. "What's it say?" Eagle asked warily, not sure if he really wanted to know.

Taking a deep breath, Snake picked it up carefully, treating it much the same way you would a thrashing poisonous viper. He bit his lip as he read the sentence, getting it the first time unlike his team leader, and closed his eyes. "This is… this can't be right. We just saw him a couple months ago. He can't be…"

The sergeant grabbed the letter before it could drop a second time. Even he had to blink a couple times before looking over at the confused Eagle and Falcon. "Cub's dead."

* * *

><p>Eagle sobbed the entire way back to their cabin, leaning on Falcon for support as he stumbled behind Snake. Wolf had apparently returned already, as he wasn't any around the sergeant's building. Falcon didn't appear to have fully thought through what the two sentences on the paper meant, walking with a blank expression on his face. And Snake, he was either in denial or just confused, running a hand through his hair every other minute and blinking more than normal.<p>

Standing by his bunk, Wolf was finishing his packing that should have been finished last night. He'd fallen asleep early, immediately after getting back from the course, and the half-full bag had fallen right out of his list of concerns. Now he was putting his small amount of belongings in the bag to occupy his mind. When Snake walked in, he didn't notice that anyone else was in the room until a hand touched his shoulder. "What?" he demanded gruffly.

"Sarge is putting us on the next planes to England that he can find. We might be a little late, but I don't think he'll mind," Snake said quietly.

"He's dead. I don't think he'll care either way." Wolf wiped a stray tear from his cheek before throwing in the last of his stuff. "When's the flight?"

"At the last second, he got Eagle and Falcon on one leaving in the next hour and a half. The one right after theirs gets out just a few minutes later." Snake grabbed the two duffel bags by his absent teammates' beds. He'd told them to just get in the truck, especially Eagle who looked like he was going to create a new lake for the SAS training site. Falcon wasn't going to be doing anything anytime soon with Eagle soaking his shirt. "Possum was still up, so he's driving us to the airport."

"Good. Don't want someone half-sleeping at the wheel." He stood up, throwing his and Snake's bags over his shoulders. "I assume we'll be staying with Ben, since SAS isn't going to cover hotel costs." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Does Ben know?"

"He's going to be devastated," Snake said with a horrified expression. "They were like brothers."

"More than that. They were partners." Wolf turned to him, entirely solemn and closed off. "Let's head out. Eagle still has his cellphone on him. He'll call on the drive over."

Snake nodded, pushing the door open with his foot and moving sideways through the entrance to fit both the bulky bags. Wolf followed him out, noticing the now-sniffling Eagle and blank-faced Falcon. It was going to be a long ride, and even longer week, if this was how it was starting out. "Eagle!" The soldier looked up at the sound of his name. "Grab your phone and see if you can get Ben. We're gonna need somewhere to stay once we're in London. Ask him if he's got any room."

"Can do." With a new goal in mind, Eagle managed to pull himself back together long enough to at least locate his phone in the clutter that was his luggage. While Ben's number wasn't in his phone, due to the spy's well-placed paranoia, he had called it often enough to know it by heart.

Possum hit the gas as everyone got their seatbelts strapped quickly on. From the front, Wolf called back to Eagle, "Did you get him?"

"It went straight to voicemail, but it _is_ six in the morning." It was hard to believe, with how dark it was outside, that it was already six, but his phone showed the time as fourteen after. "Maybe he's asleep."

"This is Ben we're talking about, right?" Snake spoke up. "You can reach him at any time of the day or night. If he didn't pick up, then he doesn't want to." He shared a look with Wolf. "He knows."

* * *

><p>The ride was even longer than anticipated, taking only six minutes but feeling like six hours. Between them, all of their bags were carry-ons. It was an even longer wait while K-Unit waited at the terminal.<p>

Eagle suddenly laughed, about five minutes after their arrival, and the rest of his unit turned to openly stare at him. While the gun expert was the most emotional of the four, none of them could honestly describe him as ever going mental. "Um, Eagle?" Falcon piped up with a worried frown. "Have you finally had a psychotic break?"

"No, no. I was just," he wiped at his eyes, giggles still bursting through in small fits, "remembering that one time in Greece. Y'know, with the whole gypsy act?"

A sharp laugh was quickly suppressed, but not before Wolf and Falcon could swing around to gape at a blushing Snake with a hand covering his mouth. "Sorry, but I couldn't help it."

Wolf bit the corner of his lip, knowing that their sometimes-teammate had just died, but unable to get the picture of "Ana," bangles and bells quietly clanging as she moved, and lips pursed in quiet laughter and barely restrained violence, out of his head. Greece had been an…_interesting_ experience, at the very least. Alex had proven beyond all remaining doubts that he could become anyone with the proper attire. There had been, and would be, many stories shared about that particular incident.

It wasn't long before Falcon gave up and let loose his own chuckles. Anyone with a phone or camera had been lucky to not have them completely erased. "Yeah. He's forever destroyed my wonderfully naïve image of women."

"God, I'll miss him so much," Snake choked on his own words, and Wolf bowed his head in mutual agreement. "It's hard to believe that we only saw him six or seven times."

Wolf counted back the times. They'd met at Brecon Beacons, in a not so great way, but then the worst of everyone comes out when you're training in hell. After kicking him from the plane, and saving his career, Wolf hadn't seen him again until Point Blanc. Eagle had supposedly seen him earlier that year, when he had been outsourced to sub in for one of M-Unit's ill members and wound up covering for the shooter who had been apprehended after taking shots at both the prime minister and now-deceased Sayle; the shooter had, of course, turned out to be Alex. Following those three incidents, it had been nearly a year until anyone in K-Unit, exempting Ben Daniels, had caught word of him again: Alex had been running from an angered SCORPIA and the Russian mafia with a bullet in the shoulder and a long slash along his cheek, which had eventually faded to a dull pink line. After that, K-Unit and the Rider/Daniels MI6 team had collaborated on five assignments over the course of the next year, two of those unplanned or without prior knowledge and the other three in the Middle East.

The clock still ticked the seconds silently away as Wolf stared at his watch's digital face. Still a good twenty minutes until Eagle and Falcon's plane was ready to start boarding. He sighed, running a hand over his eyes, and took a second glance at the time, hoping that it had sped up while he had briefly looked away. While Alex's death had been not exactly unexpected, what with his job choice, but he had still been so _young_ that it seemed wrong, somehow. It was also going to wreck havoc with his team's mentality. All of them, including him, were going to need time to recover from this blow.

"Hey, Wolf." He looked over at Falcon, who had suddenly started at something he had remembered. "I know I probably ask about this after...er...well, later, but something was nagging at me and I couldn't get it out of my head. How'd they find Cub, I mean Alex? He'd changed his identity and everything, and even I didn't recognize him when I picked them up in Bangkok two weeks ago."

"Two weeks ago?" Eagle asked in confusion. "But you said they were letting you on break early...oh, I get it now."

Falcon nodded. "MI6 didn't have any pilots handy, and they knew we had another week till our tour was over, so they gave me the general area and a minute before I was going to land, Ben sent me the coordinates for their location. I had to go with the story they made for me, so sorry about that."

"It's MI6 you're talking about. Nothing to apologize for," Wolf said, brushing off the second part of his statement. "Now what's this about Alex changing identities?"

"When I went to pick them up, I didn't even recognize the kid. Even his voice had changed. Somehow one of their techies at MI6, Smithers I think he said, had switched some of his DNA around to entirely change how he looked. I could have sworn he was part Asian, part French from how he looked and spoke. If Ben hadn't vouched for him, I would have laughed it off as a joke. His name is apparently James something now...I mean then."

Wolf and Snake shared a shocked look, but Eagle nodded understandingly. "He told me about it in Greece. Last he mentioned to me, he still didn't know when the funeral for 'Alex Rider' was going to be held."

"Did he say why?" Snake asked.

"SCORPIA." The two said simultaneously.

"And MI6 probably didn't want someone so high up to be a teenager," Eagle went on. "It sounded like he wasn't completely for the idea, but that it was eventual either way. The spy business does that to you."

"But as I was asking," Falcon interrupted, "how did SCORPIA find him out? He had the best cover in the world. No one could possibly have connected Rider to Bertrand, except that they worked for the same company."

Wolf shrugged. "Maybe their reach is longer than we know of. They could have someone in MI6. That was how his housekeeper was killed after all."

Falcon frowned. "I guess." His tone of voice said he was clearly that of the unconvinced.

Before either of them could say anything more, a voice came over the intercom. "The plane to London in terminal 1A is now boarding seats one through fifteen. Repeat, the nonstop flight to London in terminal 1A is now ready to board seats one through fifteen."

"That us," Eagle said, after reconfirming with his ticket stub where they were seated. He threw his cargo bag over one shoulder and nudged his teammate with the other. "Falcon, we should probably grab our seats while the aisle is still easy to maneuver."

"Yeah. Yeah, we should." He hesitated, meeting eyes with Wolf, before grabbing his own baggage and following Eagle to their terminal.

"We'll see you guys at the..." he hesitated, unable to say the word funeral. "We'll see you all later," he amended.

Snake watched their retreating backs and reclined in the cheap blue and yellow patterned airport seats. "How did this happen, James?" he asked Wolf. "Alex was one of those kids I thought we were fighting to protect, and he somehow dies protecting the rest our country."

"We couldn't have done anything, Jake.* All of us had told him to get out of the business on many occasions and the decision was his to make. Nothing we said was going to change his mind." He paused, his forehead bunching up to crease into multiple layers of worry lines. "I hate to say this, but this would have been how he wanted to go, not from old age or in a car accident. He was killed in the line of duty, and any soldier would ask for the same honor."

"He was a _kid_." Snake snarled, hands clenched into fists. "He died because MI6 blackmailed him into a job he shouldn't have had to do."

"Did you get a good look at him and Ben in Greece? In France? How about all those times in the Middle East? Neither of them would have been happy sitting behind a desk or playing football** with friends every weekend."

"But he would have been _alive_!" Despite his protests, Snake understood what he was being told. He'd known it all along, just didn't want to believe it. He sighed. "I think that's our plane being called over the intercom."

"Terminal three?"

"Mmhmm."

"Alright, let's head down there."

Needless to say, both flights were long ones to the four travelers, despite being less than an hour long each. With less time waiting to depart from the small airport and no layovers midway through the flight, Eagle and Falcon's plane landed in the London City Airport over an hour before the small thirty-seat plane that their teammates were on was due.

As they stepped off, bags in hand, Eagle ran off to the doors, waving for a cab. On the way over, the two of them had searched their clothes for some black attire. As they had been heading for the middle of the desert, in a war zone, there wasn't much to work with. Eagle had found a belt dark enough to look black in the right lighting and a tie. Falcon had acquired a black jacket and dark jeans from the airport lounge for a price he knew would be regretted later before getting on the plane. As he was getting an arm through the second sleeve, Eagle shouted out to him, asking how much fare he could afford. As usual, the soldier was likely broke.

Falcon made a mental note to make sure to get refunded later, but took his wallet out from the luggage. He walked over to where Eagle was talking with one of the cab drivers, who was leaning idly against his black vehicle. "Will this be enough?" he asked the driver, handing him about forty pounds***.

The driver counted it out, doing the math in his head. "Five more and it's a deal." When the coins were in his hand, he took the luggage and stored it them in the back as the two soldiers grabbed their seats. Johnny, as the nameplate in his cab said, easily navigated the complex London traffic, sometimes going a little too fast and slamming on the breaks without warning, but humming along to his radio the whole time as if this was another typical day on the streets—which it likely was.

While they were cruising along at alarmingly high speeds, Falcon calmly leaned over from the backseat to comment that Eagle's tie looked funny for some reason. Looking down, the man realized that he had put it on backwards. As the taxicab pulled up to the curb of the address they had given him, he finally managed to have it on correctly.

Both of them dumped their luggage in a large clump of bushes, seeing nowhere else conveniently available, and went looking for Ben, who would definitely be in attendance as the only family Alex had had left. At first, neither of them could see the familiar face among the small throng of people, most of which the two had either never seen or who were often seen on the news. Eagle was surprised to see even the prime minister and his wife occasionally dabbing at their eyes; Alex had evidently made some friends really high up.

He finally spotted the spy, dressed in the stereotypical secret agent attire and looking distinctly Bond-like with his distant, emotionless expression, sitting against an apple tree only a few feet away from the open casket. Eagle waved at him, trying to catch his attention, but all his efforts were futile. Ben seemed to have completely zoned out, lost in his thoughts. He stuffed his hands in his camouflage pants' pockets, which clashed strangely with the black tie, and made his way through the crowd to stand above him.

Falcon, who didn't really know the spy aside from the few times that he had seen Ben and Alex on missions, told him that he would sit in one of the cheap plastic seats set up for mourners.

Ben still didn't notice the new presence until he plopped down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped around as he realized that he had company.

"We got the news just before we were about to get shipped out," the soldier said quietly. "I tried to call but you must have turned your phone off."

"I didn't want to talk to anyone," he sighed and Eagle watched as his eyes drifted back up to trace the movement of the clouds scattered across the sky. "I just…needed some time to think." As Ben looked back out at the others gathering in the small courtyard, he and Falcon's eyes met. The soldier nodded at him, conveying his empathy, and Ben returned the small gesture.

"MI6 didn't tell us what happened. Was it-?" He stopped, biting his tongue. The best thing would have been to push the conversation in a different direction, but he'd let his questions slip out.

"I don't know," Ben grimaced, anger and sadness clouding his eyes. Tears were gathering, but the spy hadn't let any fall. "There's an investigation looking into it, but I don't think it matters. What's done is done."

"A sniper again?" Eagle knew he shouldn't press for details, yet some part of him wanted to know.

"Yeah. I see it over and over in my head and I always feel like there was something wrong with the picture." He rubbed at his eyes. "There had to have been something I could have done."

"No, there wasn't," the soldier almost yelled, his voice almost unrecognizable as a hard undertone crept into it. "Like you said, what's done is done. The point of us being here is to remember him, not regret our mistakes."

Ben looked over at him, then shook his head. "I guess having a psychologist as a brother comes in handy sometimes."

"All the time. It never fails to help. Now what he would say is 'instead of sitting there, go talk with all these people and share condolences. They miss him just as much, even if you were closest to him.'"

"And let you sit here by yourself crying? That would be mean."

"I am not crying," he protested half-heartedly, feeling the wetness on his cheek and tasting the salty tears slipping down on to his lip. "Oh now you've done it. When Wolf gets here, he's going to call me a crybaby."

The tiniest smile crossed Ben's face. "Somehow, I doubt that." Because despite all of his faults, Wolf was by no means as heartless as he sometimes acted. Underneath all the brawn and gruffness, he had a soft heart for his unit. It was why he was their leader in the first place.

For the next half an hour, Eagle distracted Ben from the funeral by asking who all the people were. And there were a lot of people, though few stayed long enough to be noticed as more than a brief flicker in the corner of his eye. Even Ben had a hard time recognizing some under all the disguises, and at least two dozen, he admitted to not knowing at all.

Throughout all of the morning, however, there were a few faces that remained. Among them were a number of MI6 employees, most of which the spy could name; Blunt and Jones, Alex's former bosses; the Prime Minister, who must have been closer to the teenager than either of them had previously noticed; and a woman lingering to the fringes of the gatherers that Ben guessed was Tamara Knight, Alex's only other partner that had been lucky enough to survive the experience.

"I honestly didn't think I would be fortunate enough to outlive him," Ben had murmured when the CIA agent's name had come up. Eagle assumed he was remembering when Alex had broken the news of his previously murdered partners, and the one that had escaped the curse.

When Wolf and Snake finally unloaded from their own taxi, the two of them had resorted to just staring at the clouds, which appeared to be fading away and leaving the London sky clearer than it normally was, and abandoned all hope at conversation.

The two were carrying their cargo bags, and dressed in the black they had managed to get. Wolf's basically consisted of a plain black tie, much like Eagle's, while Snake looked more appropriately dressed, with a dark formal vest over his plain white long-sleeved shirt and black trousers. Falcon pointed them to where they had dumped their luggage, to which Wolf shrugged, tossing his next to theirs, and Snake rolled his eyes but did the same.

Greetings were exchanged again, and Snake once again criticized himself for not forcing Alex from the business sooner. He wound up with a large bruise over one ear when Ben whacked him upside the head, telling him that no one was at fault except the sniper. All five of them were quiet for a moment.

It was at that point that the new car pulled up, and two new men entered the courtyard. K-Unit knew the slow overly-obese one was MI6's gadgetmaker, Smithers, based on the descriptions both Ben and Alex had given them. According to them, he was the genius behind every gadget provided to the spies, from the invisible ink to the small missiles tucked in their vehicles.

The second was less obvious. He was a thin man, just entering his middle ages based on the lack of grey in his hair, and confined to a wheelchair. Everything about him, from his expression to the simple way he maneuvered the wheelchair, felt plain and almost dull. Except for his disability, he was the kind of person that one could easily forget about.

Falcon was the one who recognized his face, as he passed them. "Wasn't he the one that died in the earthquake a couple years back?" he asked, standing on his toes to get a better view. Ben evidently already recognized him by the quirk of his lips and wary look.

"You mean the four guys whose bodies we pulled out?" Wolf frowned, but tossed the idea around as he tried to remember what he could about that incident with little success. "I don't think we ever found the intelligence agent supposedly with them?"

"That's an impressive trick he pulled, then. I could have sworn there were no survivors when that building crashed."

"Maybe he switched identities for a time and somehow got pulled back into the game." Snake spoke up. "I sure wouldn't suspect a cripple for doing too many stunts, but…" he stopped before he could finish with 'but I wouldn't suspect a teenager, either.'

If Ben was bothered by his insinuation, it didn't show. "Or, MI6 might have offered him the newly vacated position. He visited enough times to make it seem like he was deciding to come back in."

It looked exactly like that, Wolf was guessing. The guy set his sense in a weird way, as if there were something distinctly _wrong_ about him that he couldn't put a finger on. Must be one of those spy things, he figured. He was quiet, along with the rest of them, when the guy set a hand gently on the casket, just on the side due to his inability to reach higher. He seemed just as sad as any of the other mourners, but in a different sense of the word. His lips moved briefly as he gave some parting words to Cub…no, Alex.

Much as he had disliked the kid, he had grown on Wolf and the rest of K-Unit (both the original one and current). Alex had been good at the job, maybe one of the best, but he had done it aversely and only after he had nothing, and no one, to go back to when all was said and over. In the end, all he had wanted to be was an ordinary teenager. He'd never even gotten the chance to grow up. The least he deserved was to not be referred to as if he was another soldier, and have them remember him by his real name.

When he thought no one else was looking—since they had averted their gazes on purpose—he wiped at the moisture increasing in his eyes.

"That's a little weird."

Wolf swung his head to the side, hearing Ben's words. Eagle voiced his thoughts, "What? What'd he say?"

The spy scratched at his head, puzzling the words over. "He said, 'They'll miss you,' instead of 'I'll miss you.' That just seems off to me."

Inside, Wolf almost laughed. "If Alex were here, he'd probably come up with some insane scheme to break into his files and somehow drag the rest of us into this. Despite overwhelming odds, we'd all survive to laugh about it when we didn't hurt so much."

"Probably." Despite the short relaxation period, Ben looked like he'd aged ten years in the month since they had last seen him. As he spoke, his eyes drifted over to linger on the coffin. His expression spoke volumes. With a burst of effort, he brought his thoughts back to the here and now. "I need to run over to the office for a couple minutes. Blunt said we'd get the full day off, pay included, but there were some things he needed to speak to everyone about at around nine." With a half-hearted smile to the four of them, he grabbed his stuff and dashed to the opposite side of the building, leaving K-Unit to themselves.

After Ben's departure, Wolf rounded his unit up. "Does anyone have money for a hotel?"

Falcon reluctantly raised a hand. "I can cover us for a couple days, but that's it."

"It'll be enough." He nodded in the direction that Ben had just gone. "We should stay in the area, make sure he's alright."

Of course, Ben wasn't the only one he was worried about. Falcon was doing well enough, but Snake and Eagle needed a break from the job. Wolf watched Ben's retreating back disappear behind the building and shook his head. If this was how his week was starting, it couldn't go down much further.

Could it?

* * *

><p>He got the call the following day, just as he walked into the room he and Snake had been sharing. Falcon and Eagle had another just down the hall. There had been enough pillows and sheets to have one person comfortably sleeping on the floor while the other took the bed. Set on vibrate and still stuffed into his bag, Wolf almost didn't notice it until it went to voicemail. He flipped it open without even glancing at the caller ID; the rest of K-Unit would be coming back from lunch, leaving the only possible person to be "Ben."<p>

"James. Are you free later today?" He was speaking slowly and deliberately, as if he was reading off a script.

"Yeah, I'm not busy. Something wrong? You sound funny."

"Sort of, well not really. It's confusing, but I can't say a lot over the phone. Could you meet me in MI6's courtyard by-"

"-Alex's grave," Wolf finished with him. "I know. When and should the rest of the unit come?"

There was a long hesitation, long enough that Wolf almost checked to see if he was still connected. "I think…that would be a good idea. They might…might need to know about…" Someone said something in the background, to which he quietly replied, "I'm on the phone with him now." "Tell the rest of K-Unit to come," he spoke back into the phone, before there was a buzz of interference.

"Troubles on your side?"

"Communications is being glitchy today for some reason, and our comm techie is out with a nasty case of pneumonia." He sighed on the other end. "It has been a long morning."

"I can imagine. What time?"

"Uh, it's about ten after-"

"No, I mean what time do you want to meet?"

"Now I feel stupid. I should've realized that. Would you be able to get there within the next hour?" The spy was acting…unusual. It sounded like he was turning his head every few seconds and flinching at the slightest creaks.

"None of us have anything to do for the next week except relax, according the sergeant. He's forbidden us from returning to work before then."

"Is this really the same guy from Brecon Beacons we're talking about? I seem to recall his thing with sticking us out in the freezing rain for hours on end, without food or the majority of our clothes."

Oh yes, Wolf thought to himself. Something suspicious was going on. Ben's voice was almost squeaky, his nervousness so detectable that it was obvious over the phone. "Yep, same guy."

"Wow. I mean…wow."

There were a few minutes of awkward silence, with short bursts of static, and they eventually hung up. Wolf fiddled with the phone before tucking it into his jacket. The rest of his unit would be getting back any time now.

Conveniently, Snake entered seconds after he thought that. "That is the last time that Eagle gets to choose where we eat. I didn't realize that Italian food could be so…spicy. Eagle probably didn't realize that, as he was eating so fast that he had to come up for air every other mouthful." A mournful sigh escaped his lips. "Never again, I'm telling you."

"You said that last time," Wolf reminded him. "And the time before that, and the time before that, and-"

"I get the idea already. But I have learned my lesson. Seriously."

"Sure, we'll go with that. Before you say anything more," he quickly said, as the medic opened his mouth to retort, "I got a call from Ben."

He immediately let the previous matter go, a concerned look shadowing his face. "Is he alright?"

"Maybe, I don't know, but he wants to meet in MI6's backyard. It sounds like he found something that has him a little panicked."

"Panicked? Ben? I don't believe it."

"I wouldn't have either, but he sounded a hundred miles away and twitchy."

Snake's frown deepened. "It must be serious. When was this supposed to be?"

"Within the next hour. It's a ten minute drive, so I was about to hail a cab. Are the other two here, or is Eagle out dancing in the fountain on the search for free money?"

"Last I saw, they were attempting to get into their room."

"Attempting?"

"Apparently, the best and brightest of special forces have been foiled by a simple hotel lock. I just hope they don't resort to violence. That would probably cost extra in our bill."

"Which is going to Falcon either way." He stepped past Snake into the hallway to sigh in disbelief at the two soldiers, hunched in front of their door. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you two? Just follow the little arrow on the card." He flipped it the right way and slid it in, unlocking their door. The two exchanged an embarrassed laugh, and just as they moved to enter, Wolf put a hand in their way. "We have places to go, people to meet. Unless you need a minute to make your hair look pretty, I was going to call for a taxi."

Eagle gave an exasperated sigh, and Falcon yelped an indignant "Hey!"

Snake ignored the childish bunch to take the elevator downstairs, intent on not being seen with his unit during their bickering phase.

* * *

><p>"So, why are we here again?"<p>

Their taxi, which had been thoroughly crammed and uncomfortable for its four passengers, had dropped them off at the same corner where Eagle and Falcon had disembarked from their cab the previous day. The same two had not yet been briefed on Wolf's conversation with Ben.

"Ben wanted to meet up with us," their leader said briefly, canvassing the grounds for the absent spy. "He sounded distinctly worried. Something must have come up."

"But during the workday?" Falcon asked. "I know he wants to get out of work, but it doesn't seem like the kind of thing someone in his position would exactly be able to get away with."

"All I know is that he wanted us to be here within the next hour."

"Here? Why here?"

"Well, not _here_ exactly," he clarified. "He said to go to Cub's…you know."

Eagle stepped forward. "Wait, wait. He skipped over mentioning a reason for this get-together? That's not very Ben-like, just saying."

"Maybe he thinks his phone is tapped," Snake suggested.

Wolf scoffed."In a building of paranoid spies? That's funny."

"No, I'm serious." He laid his hands out in front of him, as if he was holding out a map or book for them to examine. "Not only is it a building of spies, but also one of the biggest and oldest espionage centers in the world. Maybe his phone hasn't been bugged by an enemy, but an ally." His hands retracted as he folded them against his chest. "What are the chances that MI6 records all of their employees incoming and outgoing calls, for both security purposes and to keep files on what they've been saying."

"That's a good point there, Snake." Wolf said. "And here you had me thinking that all you could do was act like our mother."

"In the case of you all," he said, raising an eyebrow, "that might actually be a complement."

They proceeded to walk to Alex's small grave, hidden constantly in the shade by the multiple trees surrounding it, which may or may not have been intended to reflect his life and lifestyle—keeping to the shadows. Unless you knew what you were looking for, and were privileged enough to know what the small round stone, absent of both names or dates, was for, it just looked like another ornament in the clearing.

The four stood around it, heads bowed in quiet respect for the fallen, and didn't notice the tall figure leaning against a nearby apple tree, the same one he had been laying against almost exactly twenty-four hours previously. Ben finally gave up on them, abandoning his position to stand behind them and loudly clearing his throat. Startled from their reverie, K-Unit swiveled around to see the spy gesturing for them to follow him.

Immediately, Wolf saw the difference in everything about Ben's aura. He seemed to have his good humor returned to him, by the light spring in his step and the slight quirk of his lips. The nervousness evident in his voice was from an entirely different entity, it would appear.

None of them moved at first, everyone watching the new Ben, as opposed to the one seen at the funeral. Alex's funeral. Something must have happened to alter his entire mood. Snake was the first to take a step after the spy, hurrying to catch up, and the rest of his unit caught on to what they should be doing.

The courtyard behind MI6 was entirely open, with a dozen or so clusters of trees, but one spot in particular was secluded, darker than such places should be in the morning, and covered by none of the four hundred and seventy-six video cameras taping every movement made within the perimeter, including those inside MI6. Whether the small four square meters was left unrecorded for some reason in particular was unknown to the SAS soldiers. However, they were the few words spoken in hushed whispers by Ben as Snake and Eagle caught up to him, Wolf and Falcon not long behind them.

"Why don't we just leave the area to talk?" Snake whispered back. "It would be far less complex."

"Not in this case," Ben vaguely replied. "It isn't my company's cameras I'm most concerned with avoiding right now."

As they reached the boundaries of the non-recording zone, another voice reached them. "We have a proposition for you, and one that no one else can know exists." Another tall, dark figure stepped forward, remaining masked by the shadows. "SAS and MI6 can't protect me when I go under other aliases now. Paperwork, you know."

Wolf stepped forward, crossing his arms. "And why should we help you? We have perfectly good jobs already. You haven't even said your name."

The shadow let out a long-suffering huff. "As a matter of fact, I have a perfectly good reason why you might be willing to accept this job. I'd say it would completely erase any favors left between you and I."

"_Favors_? I don't even know who you _are_."

Their nameless figure nodded his head. "Point taken. I am the most recent head of MI6, very recently promoted, and go by many names. You would recognize two of them. One is Gene Rochester, middle name not written down in any public records but put down as Thomas on his birth certificate." Wolf opened his mouth to say something, but before he could decide what to say, the voice continued, "The second one would be Alex Rider, middle name John after his father, gunned down by a sniper five days ago." A stray beam of light glanced off the figure's shoulder, illuminating a young tan face with messy blond hair and the hints of a smirk playing on his face and dancing in his bright brown eyes. "Miss me?

(Three minutes of shocked silence later…)

Eagle laughed, "Alright, this is officially the most realistic dream I have ever had. Either that, or you have all played some incredibly elaborate hoax on me, which isn't funny."

"No, he's serious. Though I'm inclined to reach the same conclusions you just did." Snake said in a faraway voice.

Wolf's eyes narrowed to small slits. He nodded to Alex, who was amusedly watching their various reactions, "Okay kid. I think that I'm going to kill you. First off, we should be in Afghanistan, not worrying our asses off about Ben and ourselves suffering from mental trauma. Second, you've just destroyed your chances of getting free of espionage. This pretty much binds you to it for life. Third." He did something Alex had not expected. The big, scary SAS soldier who had never taken shit from anyone threw his arms around the teenager, who was at least seven inches shorter than him. "You scared the hell outta me."

Eagle, noticing that Alex was, in fact, not some figment of his imagination, joined the hugging session, followed by Snake and Falcon.

Ben and Alex gave K-Unit a brief overview of everything Alex had undertaken within the past week, down to the somewhat-faked sniping and hologram of Rochester of Smithers' creation. "But being a cripple has its downfalls," Alex admitted. "I can't suddenly hop up and start shooting, jump out windows, or even walk down stairs any more, which pretty much takes out any side-jobs I might want to undertake without the rest of MI6 being privy to the knowledge. I'm under constant surveillance now, but any other people I might hire to assist in some minor jobs, not of interest to the rest of my business, without worry of many problems."

"You want to hire _us_?" Eagle exploded in disbelief, his eyes never leaving Alex in fear that he might disappear again, returning to the dead once more.

"I can't just go grab a random bunch of bozos, Eagle. They have to be unaffiliated with MI6 and off any terrorist or espionage radars, but I also can't worry about having copies of the OSA**** lying around with signatures printed on them connected to people I don't want other spies to know I'm hiring. In short, K-Unit. I trust you guys not to sell me out and you're affiliated with the SAS, which leads most people to see you as military grunts."

"Point taken."

"The money will filter slowly inter your bank accounts over long periods of time, likely under the names of multiple groups, a handful of them real but most made-up. It won't seem like the best paid job at first, but," he shrugged, still half-hidden by the trees' shade, "in the long run, it's a good investment."

"Are you kidding?" Falcon chuckled. "Of course we'll take it!" The three to either side of him nodded their confirmation.

"And you have to promise us one other thing," Wolf said gravely.

Alex smiled. "Name it."

"We get to see you—not Rochester, you _Alex_—at least once every other month to check up on you. How and where doesn't matter, and it doesn't even need to be all of us."

His smile widened as he said, happily, "I think we have a deal, James."

They shook hands on it, Wolf's eyes becoming slits again as he grunted in surprise. "Wait. How do you know my name?"

"Your name? I've known it since I started working with K-Unit after coming back from Russia and working with you part-time. Once Snake and I exchanged names, I figured I should do background checks."

"Damn, you haven't changed one bit you cheeky devil."

His only response was another smirk and "You expected any less?"

* * *

><p>AN: If these chapters had been any longer, I could publish this as a book. *sigh* But yes, this is the last one in my arc. The _last_ one, non-negotiable. I have another AR storyline I wanted to try out, my twin and I have a crossover to finish planning out (and it will be awesome), and finals are coming up. So is a month long trip to see the splendors of France, Germany, Luxemburg and anywhere else we might pop into. This leaves me little time for writing. Very little time for anything, as a matter of fact. I hope you guys follow me into my next stories. Thanks so so so much for following me even this far!

Topic number two: the reason I took so long, and nearly went on hiatus, was because I suffered a concussion last weekend whilst playing…you'll never believe this…Quidditch. Yes, that game in Harry Potter where you fly around on broomsticks and try to catch the snitch. That one. If you go out and search Google for the rules for a ground-based Muggle version, you will discover that there are not only official rules and guidelines available, but that there exists an _international_ league for professional players!

This is what happens when geeks have too much time on their hands.

My family wound up playing this during the weekend, I was the snitch runner, and a couple bludgers and hard tackles later, I could barely see straight. In summary, I wound up in the emergency room, got patched up and sent home with tons of medication, and missed three days of school.

And during all that, my internet was fixed. Karma is a bitch, I'm telling you.

*I pulled the name for Wolf (James) from multiple other fanfics that used that as his name. I thought it sounded right, so I went with that. In _Safehouse_ I said that Snake's full name was Jake O'Reilly.

**For all you Americans out there, this is the _true_ football, a.k.a. soccer. I mean really, I can see why soccer should be called football (since it's played with your feet) but American football? The whole running, tackling and throwing doesn't use your feet much at all. These things confuse me so much.

***£43, or forty-three pounds, is about what a taxi driver in London would ask for. I did the math, but assuming that they're going from the LCA to Chelsea (which is near-ish where I think MI6's HQ was located in the AR books) with typical traffic, the amount seems about right. For you Americans (again), the exchange rate from pounds to dollars is about .6 pounds per US dollar right now, so the cost is approximately seventy-two dollars.

****Official Secrets Act (OSA)


End file.
